


Kevin Isn't Too Far Away - A Sue-Pernatural Season 8 ficisode

by SuePokorny



Series: Sue-Pernatural Season 8 Ficasodes [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-30
Updated: 2013-08-02
Packaged: 2017-12-21 22:06:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/905488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuePokorny/pseuds/SuePokorny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Second in a 4-part series designed to replace season 8, but bring us to a place to launch season 9. Not exactly AU, but not conforming to the canon we were forced to swallow either. ☺ Afterall, if they can ignore the previous canon they themselves wrote, why can’t we? In Episode 2, back from Purgatory, Dean and Sam must pick up where they left off. First order of business – find Kevin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Act I

Welcome back! This is the second ‘Ficisode’ of four new adventures in my re-write of season 8. If you haven’t read Ficisode 1 – Still They Ride – I suggest you do before reading this as there are ongoing elements that carry through. As stated in my forward of that fic, I am erasing Season 8 from my mind, attempting to create a new mytharc, with both boys in character, no contrived drama between them, culminating into a launching pad for Season 9. I hope you enjoy my therapy. ☺ 

Kevin Isn’t Too Far Away

Act I

The warehouse was damp and drafty, and Kevin was cold. He rubbed his eyes, sat back in the chair and rolled his neck, trying to work out the kinks that had formed over the last few hours. He slouched in the uncomfortable plastic chair and stared over the top of the small workspace at the two demons by the door. They stared right back.

God, this sucked.

Ever since Crowley had nabbed him from SucriCorp, right under Sam Winchester’s nose, he’d been stuck in the crappy old warehouse, nothing to do but work on this new tablet until he feared his head would explode. It’s not like he didn’t find it interesting – after all, how many people could say they were reading the Word of God? The actual Word of God. But come on! Every day, under guard, not allowed to go out , get up for anything besides a bathroom break or to sleep. Nobody could live like this.

If he’d had a choice he would be studying for a calculus final or something… anything... But no, turns out being a prophet is a huge pain in the ass. You don’t get to go to college, you don’t get to have friends. Instead, you get to sit in a creepy abandoned building, being stared at by two black-eyed WWF rejects, trying to decipher scrawling on a tablet from thousands of years ago.

Fun times.

He wished he could have some kind of outside contact with… anyone. His mom must be going nuts by now. She’d probably called the cops, hung posters, hell even had a press conference trying to find him. 

And the Winchesters… he was pretty sure they were looking for him, too. Right?

He’d watched Dean and his angel buddy disappear into oblivion when they stabbed Dick Roman, but he had no idea what that meant. Was Dean dead? He had a hard time thinking of the hunter that way. Dean, despite his sports metaphors and the whole Fast & Furious mentality, seemed like a capable guy. It was hard to believe he could just be gone. Poof! Just like that.

Of course, Sam was still kicking – Kevin had been standing right next to him one minute, and then here in this dismal old warehouse the next. Before he could get his brain in gear and make a break for it, Crowley had appeared, smiling and acting as if he was a long lost uncle who was offering Kevin a chance at the family fortune.

Kevin had not seen the sun since. 

He wasn’t sure how long it’d been – a couple months at least – and the no phone, no internet rule was starting to wear thin. He hadn’t gone this long without some kind of outlet in years. He didn’t even have his violin to take the edge off. Crowley was only interested in results.

Food, water and demands. That’s all Kevin had received. Crowley wasn’t interested in coddling him. He didn’t care if Kevin was happy. He only cared that Kevin could give him the information he wanted. And if he couldn’t? The teenager didn’t want to think about that. Crowley scared the crap out of him.

So Kevin had decided to give him exactly what he was asking for.

Unfortunately for the King of Hell, the results were a bit… bogus. But despite his fear, there was no way in hell he was going to tell Crowley exactly what was on this tablet. It was all about how to kill demons.

He was fairly sure the king of the demons wouldn’t be thrilled knowing there was a ‘how to’ book out there on killing demons – even if it was written in an ancient language that only one person could decipher. So, instead, Kevin had sold him a load of crap about how this tablet held a spell that would open up all the gates of Hell at once, allowing all demonkind to walk the earth. 

Crowley had been thrilled.

Kevin had called upon his drama department-honed acting skills and sold it with just the right amount of fear and despair, relieved Crowley had bought the ruse. Of course, since Kevin was the only prophet alive who could read the tablet, it wasn’t like the demon could run out and get a second opinion. So Crowley was operating on trust. Trust that he’d sufficiently cowed Kevin enough to make him do what he was supposed to do.

The demon had obviously never had to deal with an Advanced Placement student.

Kevin had been doling out a list of ingredients, some real, some not, trying to make it impossible for Crowley to figure out what he was actually doing. The demons would pop in and out as he requested certain things, most of which made little sense to the prophet. But since only a few of them were necessary for what he was truly building, he was having fun with it.

Yesterday, a demon had dropped off excrement from a Werewolf, which accounted for the rank odor that still lingered inside the warehouse. He had no idea where they had found werewolf poop, and didn’t ask, but silently relished in the reception the other demons had given the poor sap that had been assigned the task. It’s not that he wasn’t scared shitless of the demons, but he knew Crowley had left standing orders for him to not be harmed, so toying with them was one of the only forms of entertainment he had left.

“Get to work!” One of the demons called. Kevin had named him Urza, after the planeswalker from Magic the Gathering. The other one was named after Urza’s brother, Mishra. They looked nothing alike, but demons were demons. He hadn’t noticed a lot of variety in their personalities.

Slumped in his seat, Kevin ignored the gruff demon, feigning a yawn to show how much the order phased him.

“I said, get to work, Prophet!”

“I want to talk to Crowley.”

“The boss is busy. You talk to me.”

Kevin shook his head. “Nope. I’m not translating another word until Crowley lets me call my mom.”

The demon took a threatening step forward but was held back by his partner, who shook his head.

Urza sent a glare toward Kevin, then pulled out his phone and dialed. 

“Sorry, to disturb you, sir. But the prophet is asking to call his mother. Says he won’t continue until he does.” The demon held the phone away from his ear as a cacophony of tinny ranting and growling came from the device. Finally, he nodded and slammed the phone closed. He approached the young prophet, who tensed, cautiously rising from the chair to stand, apprehensive, ready to make a run for it if necessary.

The demon held out his cell phone.

“You have two minutes.”

Kevin sighed in relief, his shaking hand reaching out and taking the device from the demon. He took a step back, the chair catching him behind his knees and dropping him onto the hard plastic. He could feel the demon’s cold black stare on him as he turned in the chair, and concentrated on the screen. Hoping he had the right number, he cleared his throat nervously, waiting while the phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Mom,” Kevin smiled, his voice shaking as much as his hands. “It’s me.”

…………………………………..

Sam watched his brother. He was pretending to work on the computer, surreptitiously stealing glances at the older man who lay prone on the far bed, knee supported by a pillow, head against the wooden headboard. Dean had hobbled into the motel room, accepting his brother’s suggestion they hole up for a while until the notoriety of their crash back onto Terra Firma died down. 

After resting for more than 24 hours near Minneapolis, they had set off, deciding to return to Rufus’ cabin in Montana where they could decompress and figure out their next move. A stop at a gas station on I-90 just west of Albert Lea had nearly given Sam a heart attack when the local news had run the video from the basilica on their morning news. They’d changed clothes but still wore the same jackets and jeans, and the way the store clerk had eyed them had made Sam more than a little concerned. Hoping the footage would’ve been forgotten, Sam had jumped on the internet, hijacking the Wi-Fi from a nearby motel, groaning as he realized the footage had gone viral. Not wanting to chance being recognized – the odds being better than he’d thought if the gas station clerk was any indication – they’d decided to hook south, crossing the border into Iowa and checking into a remote motel near Spirit Lake.

After Dean was through making lame yet obvious jokes about the city’s name, the older hunter finally settled in and turned on the TV, clicking the remote until he’d finally landed on the E! network. Since then, he’d been quiet, content with entertainment news and a Keeping Up With the Khardashians marathon. When Sam questioned his choice in television viewing, he simply replied he was ‘re-acclimating’ himself to the real world, grabbed another long neck and told Sam to order a pizza with extra cheese.

Two days later, the Khardashians had been replaced by a Star Trek marathon and Dean was beginning to grow restless. Sam knew it was only a matter of time before they’d have to get back on the road, their forced vacation giving way to real life.

He had to admit he’d enjoyed these few days with his brother. For a while, he had been afraid he would never see Dean again. His search for a way to free his brother from Purgatory – along with not even being certain that was where he had ended up – had been frustrating and had tested his resolve more than he cared to admit. He had started to give up hope. He’d never own up to that out loud, much less to Dean, who seemed to believe Sam would never have quit until he had him back safe and sound. He appreciated his brother’s blind faith, he just wished he deserved it.

If he hadn’t run across the passage about St. Peter’s Gate in Bobby’s old book when he did, he may not have had the fortitude his brother believed him to possess. He would’ve forced himself to accept that Dean was gone. He would’ve never forgiven himself, but he would’ve tried to live his life in a way that would make Dean proud. 

But Winchester luck had taken a break. Sam had found the book, the spell to open the gate, and had been fortunate to find Castiel waiting on the other side. Sam knew that without the angel, he wouldn’t have found Dean as quickly as he did. He’s not even sure he would’ve survived long enough to find him. Dean had adapted to the dangerous world where monster’s souls preside, but Sam had never been as much of a chameleon as his brother. Dean could fit in anywhere, find a way to survive, but Sam was far too stubborn. He needed to do things his own way. That had always been the basis for the rifts he had with his father, Dean trying to get them both to compromise to little avail. Sam had always believed it was because they were so different from each other. It took him a long time to realize it was because they were so much alike.

His musings were interrupted by the buzzing of his phone lying on the tabletop next to him. Frowning at the unfamiliar number, Sam picked up the device and placed it to his ear.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Mom. It’s me.”

He recognized the voice instantly. “Kevin?” He straightened in the chair, his eyes locking with his brother’s. Dean muted the television at the sound of the prophet’s name, his full attention focused on Sam. “Kevin? Where are you? Are you okay?”

He touched the screen, putting the phone on speaker and placed it back onto the table.

“I’m okay, Mom. I’m glad to finally hear your voice.” Kevin’s voice was shaking and he sounded anything but okay.

“Can you tell us where you are?”

“I don’t really know. I just wanted to call so you didn’t worry. I know I’ve been a bit hard to keep track of, but I wanted you to know I’ll be home soon. I have to go now, Mom. I hope I see you soon.”

Without waiting for a response, the call ended. Sam immediately picked up the phone, checking the number before turning to the laptop.

“Can you track it?” Dean had scooted to the edge of the bed, leaning forward as Sam launched the GPS tracker.

Sam shrugged, his fingers flying over the keyboard. “If it’s still on, maybe. This program you got from Frank should work as long as the phone is still active.” Sam typed in the number, waiting while the software worked it’s magic, locating the device. “There!” Sam pointed as the software changed to a map, a blinking red dot centered over Lincoln, Nebraska.

“What the hell is Crowley doing in Nebraska?” Dean asked as the map changed, growing in detail, giving them a street location. 

“I don’t know,” Sam replied. He quickly jotted down the address and slammed the laptop closed. “But if we get there quick, maybe we can ask him.”

…………………………………………….

Kevin handed the phone back to the demon with a tentative smile. The demon grabbed it with disdain and immediately dialed, holding it up to his ear without backing away. 

“He’s done.” The demon said into the phone. After a moment, he held the device out again. “The boss would like a word.”

Kevin swallowed hard. It hadn’t occurred to him that Crowley may be able to trace his call. He figured with a billion and one demons running around, he wouldn’t have the capacity to track all of their cell use. Of course, this one was guarding him…

“Uh, hello?” 

“Kevin, my darling boy, how is Mom these days?”

“Uh, fine?” Kevin wasn’t sure what to say. He couldn’t tell, from just his voice, if Crowley was toying with him or not. Of course, talking to the King of Hell on the phone was much more preferable to talking to him in person.

“I hope you gave her my best.” Crowley continued, his voice dripping with false benevolence. “But now that your need for parental contact has been taken care of, how about we get back to business, hmmm?” 

“I’m very close –“

“Close isn’t good enough, Kevin.” Crowley’s voice lost the sugar coating and Kevin could detect the anger coming through. “I’ve been very patient with you, haven’t I?”

Kevin simply nodded, not registering that Crowley couldn’t see him. 

“I can hear your brain sloshing,” the demon chuckled. “So I’ll take that as affirmative. But Kevin, my patience is not infinite. I have my demons spread thin, covering every gate across this sordid little planet of yours. I expect to hear you’ve successfully assembled the spell within the next 48 hours or I’ll have to do something drastic that either of us will appreciate. Am I making myself perfectly clear?” 

Kevin nodded again. “Umm… yeah, um yes.”

“Good,” the saccharin voice was back and it made Kevin shudder. “48 hours, Kevin. Toodle-loo.”

Kevin sighed in relief as he handed the phone back to the demon. He mentally crossed his fingers that they wouldn’t realize he’d activated the GPS on the phone while dialing earlier. He prided himself on being able to multitask but this was well beyond his stress levels and he didn’t want to think about what Crowley would do if he found out what Kevin was up to. If Sam was as smart as he thought, the hunter would’ve understood his ‘track’ message and would be right now finding a way to trace the GPS in the demon’s phone. He had no idea where the Winchesters were, so he had no idea how much longer he’d need to stall. Crowley was getting impatient, wanting what he’d been promised months ago, and Kevin now knew he wouldn’t be able to stall anymore. Till now, he’d bought Kevin’s excuses of having trouble with the language of the tablet – it’s not like they had a course on ancient God-speak at the local community college. But time was running out. He already had all the ingredients he needed for what he’d been actually creating, he just needed to buy enough time for the Winchesters to find him. 

Then, maybe this nightmare could end.

…………………………………………..

The warehouse looked abandoned, but Dean spotted movement through one of the broken, boarded up windows on the side of the building that told them it wasn’t quite as empty as it seemed. They had no idea how many demons would be inside with Kevin, but the Winchesters were armed with super soakers filled with holy water, salt rounds in their guns and Ruby’s knife tucked into Dean’s belt. 

“Looks like this is the place,” he whispered. They had decided to wait until dark, knowing it would be easier to move amongst the shadows. They watched, hidden among some old crates in a nearby lot as a man in a baseball cap and denim jacket approached, delivering a bag with the logo of a local burger joint emblazoned on the side. Since demons didn’t enjoy the finer things like bacon cheeseburgers, the hunters were sure the young prophet was inside. 

Dean’s stomach growled at the thought of the burger, garnering him a look of reproach from his brother. He rolled his eyes in return before once again focusing on the warehouse. 

As darkness fell, they crept along the side of the building, finding a broken window near the padlocked rear entrance. With luck, the demons were only guarding the main entrance out front, believing their prisoner secure after all this time. They climbed through the window and dropped stealthily into a small office, moving swiftly to crouch on either side of the doorway. The actual door had been removed and was lying flat against the wall to the left of the opening. Dean leaned out, taking a look into the dim outer room of the warehouse, eyes honing in the object of their mission.

Kevin was in the center of the room in a plastic lawn chair, slumped over a folding table, strewn with papers. There were more sheets of paper as well as books scattered on the floor surrounding the table, along with numerous take-out bags and more than a dozen empty liter cola bottles. At least the kid hadn’t starved, but that much caffeine couldn’t be good for anyone.

There were two demons standing guard near the front of the building, the baseball capped delivery guy moving back and forth on their side of the warehouse. They ducked as the demon came by, holding their breaths until it had passed. Dean calculated they had less than a minute before it made a return patrol and quickly formed a plan in his head.

Dean exchanged a look with his brother, holding up one hand with three fingers. As he folded the fingers into his hand, effectively counting down, there was a loud bang near the front of the building and he was dismayed to see three new demons enter, each with guns in their hands.

“Damnit,” he whispered. He’d hoped this wouldn’t get ugly.

Sam was watching him, waiting for a sign. Dean was aware of the demon coming back toward their hiding place and nodded to his brother. At least they’d have the element of surprise. He just hoped Kevin was smart enough to get himself out of the line of fire when the bullets started flying.

As soon as the demon was parallel with the door, Dean gave a nod and both brothers reached out, grabbing a leg, pulling back toward the doorway. The demon fell, Dean immediately on him with Ruby’s knife before he could make a sound. Unfortunately, there was no cover in the empty warehouse and their attack had not gone unnoticed. A shout went up from one of the other demons, and the hunters steeled themselves for the battle.

Before they could take more than a few steps through the doorway, Kevin stood, turned and screamed for them to cover their eyes. Not knowing what the little geek had planned, but trusting that he wasn’t simply screaming for screamings sake, they each did as they were told and held an arm up to cover their faces. A bright light flashed on the other side of the warehouse, stinging their eyes despite the protection. When they looked up, the warehouse was empty, save for one prophet wearing a smug, satisfied expression.

The hunters exchanged a look of confusion before making their way to where Kevin stood, rolling on the balls of his feet, looking extremely pleased with himself. The demons were gone, but there were five silhouettes burned into the wall of the warehouse, reminding Dean of the Rorschach test he’d been forced to take when he and Sam had helped Martin Creaser kill a wraith in the looney bin. The hunter stared at the shadows, eerily reminded of the ones he’d encountered in Purgatory. He stifled a shudder at the comparison.

“What the hell was that?”

“The Tran Demon Bomb,” Kevin replied with a grin. “I call it a TDB for short.”

Sam was impressed. “Kevin, that’s… amazing! How did you make it?”

Kevin picked up a familiar looking stone tablet from the table. “From this.”

“The Leviathan tablet?” Sam inquired.

Kevin shook his head. “This one is different. It’s all about demons.” His smile widened at the hunters’ twin looks of surprise. “How to kill ‘em, how to send them back to Hell.”

A noise outside the warehouse made them all tense. Dean pointed his gun at the entrance, but nothing moved. After a moment he relaxed his stance, tilting a head to his brother, indicating they should move out.

Sam nodded. “I’m sure you’re dying to tell us all about it, Kevin, but what do you say we get the hell out of here before Crowley realizes what just happened and sends more goons our way?”

…………………………………………..

It had only taken a moment to pack up the research Kevin needed along with the tablet and two additional demon bombs – or TDB’s as the prophet insisted on calling them. Once they were in the Impala, miles from the abandoned warehouse and back onto the highway, Dean finally relaxed. He eyed Kevin in the rearview mirror.

“So, how’d you get away, kid?”

Kevin, who had been staring out through the rear window, watching for any signs of pursuit, turned and dropped into the cool leather seat, slumping down contentedly. “I let Crowley think I was creating a spell to open all the gates of Hell.”

“And he bought that?”

Kevin shrugged. “It’s not like he could read over my shoulder.”

Sam chuckled, sitting sideways in the front passenger seat. “So you conned the King of Hell into believing you were making something to let all demons up top, and you were actually making demon bombs?”

Kevin smiled smugly. “TDBs”

“Tran Demon bombs,” Sam agreed. He exchanged a look of wonder with his brother, who snorted a laugh and shook his head.

“But that’s not all the tablet says,” Kevin continued. He reached for the top of the seat and pulled himself forward. “There’s instructions on how to build a TDA.”

“TDA?” Dean parroted, his eyes shifting between the mirror and the road.

“The Tran Demon Annihilator,” Kevin said with a satisfied smirk.

The hunters exchanged another look of surprise. “Come again?”

Kevin sank back into the seat and crossed his arms over his chest. “The Tran Demon Annihilator,” he repeated in answer to Dean’s question. “It’s a spell, I’ve been working on the list of components, and I’m halfway there.”

“And what exactly does this… TDA?” Sam’s brows rose in question, waiting for Kevin’s nod before continuing. “What does this TDA do?”

“It will send all demons on earth back to Hell.”

“Seriously?”

“Yep.” 

“Forever?”

Kevin’s grin faded. “I’m not sure. The spell can only be used on the summer Solstice, but so far, I haven’t found anything to say whether it’s a permanent solution or if it has to be done every year to keep the demons away.” He shrugged apologetically. “It’s not like this stupid tablet is written in English. It’s been a bitch trying to figure out what passed for slang thousands of years ago. “

“Well,” Dean said after a few moments of silence. “Whether it nukes them for good or just sends them back to home base for a while, it’ll definitely put a kink in their plans.”

Sam snorted derisively, “Or just piss them off.”

Dean shrugged a shoulder and gave his brother a grin. “They’re demons, Sam. It’s not like they’re thinking of kittens and fluffy bunnies to begin with.” He glanced up, catching the young prophet’s eyes in the mirror. “Good job, Einstein.”

Kevin smiled at the praise, then shifted his eyes back to the road in front of the big Chevy. “Where are we going?”

“To the cabin,” Sam responded, holding up a hand before Kevin could complain. The slow connection they’d had to deal with in Montana had been a problem for them all since they’d made it their base of operations. The solution had been surprisingly easy. “It’s isolated, easy to defend and warded against demons. You’ll be able to work safely there.” He pulled a mobile Wi-Fi device from his pocket and handed it to the teenager. “We even got you faster internet access.”

Dean chuckled. “Now you and Sammy can geek out to your hearts’ content.”

Kevin accepted the device with a satisfied nod. “Think we could get cable?”

TBC…


	2. ACT II

Kevin Isn’t Too Far Away  
Act II

“Love what you guys have done with the place.” 

Dean scowled at the sarcasm in the teenager’s voice as he tossed the duffel bags he was carrying behind the worn couch. 

“It’s better than a drafty, demon infested warehouse.”

“Point taken,” Kevin agreed swiftly. He crossed the small room, released the hold he had on his backpack, and dropped down onto the threadbare couch. “So now what?”

Sam entered the cabin and closed the door behind them, placing his own duffel down beside the doorway. “Now you explain about this little TDA of yours.”

Kevin took a deep breath and dug into his pack, pulling out a beat up spiral notebook. “I translated a lot of the tablet, so I have some idea what we need.”

“Some idea?” Dean repeated. “You mean you’re not sure?”

“Have you ever tried to understand the way they talked back then?” Kevin asked defensively. “It’s not like it makes a lot of sense.” He thumbed through the notebook, his finger pointing at a sentence scrawled on a page. “Like this… one of the ingredients we need is ‘the life force of a guardian of Hell’.” He looked from one brother to the other. “Any idea what that actually means?”

Dean pursed his lips and shrugged. “Crowley’s head on a stake?” he offered, hopefully.

Sam chuckled and shook his head. “More like a Hellhound,” he surmised. 

Dean tilted his head, considering. “Hellhound on a stake? Don’t they sell that at county fairs?

“That would be on a stick, not a stake.” Sam chuckled. Dean shrugged in dismissal.

Balancing on the arm of the couch, Sam leaned over to read the notes in Kevin’s hands. “Life force… blood maybe?”

“The blood of a Hellhound?” Dean snorted a laugh. “Awesome. Because that shouldn’t be a problem at all.” He turned his attention back to the prophet. “Tell me the rest of the ingredients are available at the local WalMart.”

“Sorry,” Kevin replied, his voice laced with regret. “One of the others is the ‘touch of grace’. I have no idea what that means either.”

“Grace?” Sam asked, shifting his attention to his brother. “Like an angel? That kind of grace?”

Dean shrugged again. “Makes sense. What other kind of grace would be corporeal?”

“You guys know an angel, right?”

Sam raised his brows, glancing at Dean pointedly. They hadn’t talked much about Castiel since they’d returned from Purgatory and Dean had told him they’d call if they needed him. He understood Dean’s reticence in trusting the angel after everything they’d gone through, and knew it would take time for his brother to come to terms with Cas’ betrayal of that trust, but having an angel on their side – one that wanted to help them – would certainly increase their odds of succeeding.

Dean cleared his throat, ignoring his brother’s look. He stepped into the small kitchenette, grabbed a bottle of whiskey and leaned back against the counter. “Uhh, yeah... We know one.”

“So…” Kevin looked from one hunter to the other, astute enough to pick up on the tension that had suddenly appeared between the two. He watched Dean take a healthy swallow from the bottle before returning his attention to Sam. “Do we call him? Pray to him? How exactly do we contact an angel?”

“We don’t.”

“Dean…”

“No, Sam.” Dean slammed the bottle down on the counter, the amber liquid sloshing up against the neck, spilling out onto the counter. He grimaced – whether it was from the wetness on his hand or the waste of the alcohol, Sam couldn’t be sure, but he was leaning toward the latter. He watched silently as Dean tossed the bottle top on the counter and stormed out the front door.

“Shit,” he said under his breath. He ran a hand through his hair, noticing Kevin twisted in his seat, staring at the door Dean had just marched through. “Sorry, Kevin. Cas is…. uh… kind of a touchy subject right now.”

“Got that,” the young prophet replied. He turned back on the couch. “Does it have something to do with where they ended up after they killed Dick Roman?”

Sam regarded the teenager thoughtfully. He sometimes forgot how smart Kevin was. Apparently he was more than a little observant, too. “They ended up in Purgatory,” Sam explained. “Dean…” he swallowed, his throat tight as he thought about what his brother had gone through. “He ended up alone, fighting to survive.” He took a deep breath, his eyes trailing back to the door. “It took me two months to find a way to get him out. He’s only been back a few days, so…” He wasn’t sure if he was defending his brother or apologizing for him. Either way, he didn’t want Kevin to think Dean was an ass. Only little brothers had that privilege.

,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

Dean walked a few yards from the cabin and placed a hand on the hood of the Impala, letting the familiar feel of the classic car soothe his nerves. The thought of the angel still twisted his insides into knots. It wasn’t that he hated Cas – although if he was being honest he wasn’t sure if he even liked the guy anymore – but he knew he didn’t trust him.

Maybe he had tried to find him in Purgatory, maybe he had left to recon like he said, but a simple “Wait here”, or “I’ll be right back” would’ve gone a long way. Instead, he just disappeared, leaving Dean alone, in a place where the souls of monsters ruled.

A number of which he’d put there himself.

He climbed up onto the Chevy’s hood, resting his arms on his knees, letting his head hang down, drained.

It wasn’t just skipping out on him in Purgatory, though. It was everything that had come before. The lying, spying, going behind their backs… it was almost like Cas had been taking a page from Zachariah’s book and committing every type of betrayal imaginable.

But the worst was his response when Dean had tried to reason with him back before any of the Leviathan crap. He’d tried to make Cas understand how dangerous opening Purgatory could be. How nothing good could come of it. He even tried to play on their friendship, hoping like hell that Cas would back down when confronted with Dean’s promise to stop him. Instead he had told Dean he would walk right over him to get what he wanted.

That had hurt. Thinking they had become family. Thinking they had some kind of ‘profound bond’. Then finding out it was all a lie.

After that, Dean had a hard time looking Cas in the eye. He believed the angel was truly sorry for the destruction he had caused, but he had no doubt that Cas had learned little from it. He knew, when faced with the same situation, he wouldn’t hesitate to make the same call.

Look at what he had done to Sam. 

Sure, he had taken Sam’s hallucinations, made his brother whole again, but it was Cas who had shattered Sam’s wall to begin with. The wall Death had constructed to keep the memories of Sam’s time with Lucifer at bay. The wall Dean had briefly died to obtain. 

Cas had seemed to feel remorse for what he’d done, but the pattern was obvious. Cas did what he felt was necessary, despite what anyone else believed, despite what Dean believed.

That’s not how friends treated one another. That’s not how loyalty worked. At least not in his experience.

A noise from behind made him aware of his brother’s approach. He waited, silent, knowing what Sam was going to say before he said it. Knowing he was right.

“Hey.”

Dean turned his head but didn’t reply. Sam took that as an invitation and crossed the small clearing in front of the house, leaning back against the Impala’s fender, his back to his brother who remained sitting on the hood. 

“You know we need to call him.”

Dean nodded once, his voice low and soft. “I know.”

Sam sighed, a familiar sound that Dean found oddly comforting.

“Look, Dean, I know this isn’t easy for you. I know I said you could take all the time you needed.”

“But?” Dean looked up, a weary smile on his face.

Sam turned, leaning a hip on the car. “But, we need him.”

“I know.”

“This is big, man,” Sam continued as if he hadn’t heard his brother’s agreement, revving up like a defense lawyer readying his case. “I mean, we have a chance to knock all demons back to Hell. Do you -- wait. What?”

Dean chuckled, turning his head, amused at his brother’s confused expression.

“Easy, Matlock. I said you’re right. We need Cas. I get it.”

“Oh.” Sam had the grace to look embarrassed. “I guess I thought…”

“That I would be an ass about it?” Dean finished for him, his grin lifting one side of his mouth. “I’m not an idiot, Sam. I understand there are more important things than my hurt feelings.”

“I didn’t mean to suggest what you felt wasn’t important, Dean,” Sam responded hastily.

Dean laughed, letting his brother off the hook. “It’s okay, dude. I’ll deal. But he’s your problem. You call him, you handle him. Agreed?”

Sam nodded, knowing it was a compromise they both could live with. “Agreed.” 

Dean held out a hand, indicating Sam should get to it.

“Oh, right…” Sam stepped away from the car and cleared his throat. Standing awkwardly between the Chevy and the cabin, he closed his eyes and raised his face skyward. “Um… Castiel? If you can hear me…. We would really like to talk to you… okay?” 

Dean snickered behind him. “Eloquent.”

“Shut up.” Sam wasn’t the one who usually did the calling… praying. He felt… rather stupid standing there praying for an angel. It’s not that he hadn’t prayed to the angel before, he was just used to doing it alone – when Dean wasn’t around or capable. Otherwise, Dean did it with his patented sarcastic flair, asking the angel to ‘get his feathery ass down here’, but Sam figured a more respectful approach wouldn’t hurt. After all, they needed Castiel’s help, not his censure.

“Hello, Sam.” The angel’s appearance was accompanied by the familiar fluttering of wings. He appeared directly behind the car, making both brothers twist to face him. Cas smiled as he turned his gaze to the older hunter. “Dean,” he nodded. “I am pleased to receive your call.”

Dean’s eyes shifted to the ground and he turned back around, leaving Sam to speak to the angel.

“Hey, Cas,” Sam greeted, taking a few steps toward him. “Thanks for coming.” He glanced at his brother, who remained on the hood of the Impala, staring down at his hands, clasped over his knees. “Um, were you serious about wanting to help?”

The angel’s smile faltered. Sensing Dean wasn’t going to make an effort to speak, he stepped toward Sam and gave the younger brother his full attention. “Of course, Sam. What would you ask of me?”

Sam took a deep breath and huffed it out, knowing what they were about to ask was huge.

“Um… we need your grace.”

………………………………………….

Cas listened intently as Sam and Kevin explained their plan. They had moved back into the cabin, Dean leaning back against the kitchen counter, letting his brother and the prophet spell it all out. Cas was silent when they finished, his blue eyes moving slowly from Kevin to Sam, and finally, coming to rest on Dean.

“You believe this is the best course of action?” he asked. He didn’t speak to anyone in particular, but it was obvious to whom the question was posed.

Dean took a drink from the half empty bottle of Jack Daniels and set it down behind him. He crossed his arms over his chest and pursed his lips as he raised his eyes to meet the angels. “Yes,” he said. “We do.”

Cas nodded, his eyes dropping to the floor as he contemplated the request. After a few moments, he stood and nodded his head once. “Then I will do whatever I can to help.”

“Cas,” Sam cautioned. “I know we’re asking a lot.”

“If it will help keep the demons from walking the earth, I consider it a worthy sacrifice.” His eyes strayed to the older hunter once again. “One I willingly give.”

Dean held the angel’s gaze for a moment, then let his lids hood his eyes and reached again for the bottle.

Sam stepped forward, clasping Castiel’s shoulder. “Thanks, Cas. I’m not sure how we’re supposed to do this yet.” He indicated the young prophet sitting on the couch, cradling the tablet in his arms. “Kevin is still working on deciphering part of the tablet, but I’m sure we’ll only need a small part of your grace.”

Castiel’s stoic expression didn’t change. “I will donate whatever is needed, Sam. As long as I retain even a portion of my grace, I can regenerate. It will weaken me somewhat, but it is a small sacrifice, I assure you.”

“Thank you,” Sam said, all the sincerity he could muster in his voice.

“I assume you will have more ingredients you will need my help to find?”

“Probably,” Sam agreed. “A lot of what Kevin has translated is still Greek to us.”

Cas tilted his head, his brow lowering in confusion. “I do not believe God’s word would be written in Greek, Sam.”

Sam snorted in amusement, but he quickly recovered his composure. “Uh, no… I just meant…”

“He meant they could use your help with the God-speak,” Dean interpreted.

“Of course,” Castiel nodded in understanding. He looked to Kevin, who scooted over a bit on the couch and waved a hand at the empty seat beside him. 

As Castiel situated himself beside the prophet, Sam moved into the kitchen, leaning back beside his brother.

“You okay with this?” he asked, his head nodding toward the two beings on the couch.

“Do I have a choice?”

Sam pursed his lips and shook his head. “Not really.”

“Then I’m just awesome.”

……………………………………………

It took some time, but Kevin was able to translate a partial list of things they would need to complete the spell. There were still some items he had not been able to decipher, but they had plenty of time before the Summer Solstice, and, as Sam had so succinctly pointed out, it was a marathon, not a sprint. So the hunters had encouraged the young prophet to take a break and get some much needed sleep. After his lengthy ordeal with Crowley, the teenager wasn’t looking so good and both brothers knew they would need to get Kevin some proper food and keep him rested if he was going to survive the long haul.

Castiel had disappeared while Dean was helping Kevin with the cot in the small bedroom, and Sam had not been sorry to see him go. The tension between the angel and the older hunter was thick enough to cut with a knife, but Sam was proud of his brother, that he was able to curb his natural sarcastic tendencies and be somewhat civil while Cas was in the same room. He didn’t make much of an effort to interact with the angel, leaving most of that up to Sam and Kevin, but at least he hadn’t been a disruption. He obviously accepted that he needed to put this new plan to rid the world of demons above his own grievances. Sam was still amazed at how easily his brother could bury his own pain and suffering when it came to the greater good. It had always been one of the things that had awed and angered Sam at the same time.

Even when they were kids, Dean had a tendency to make sure whatever Dad or Sam needed was taken care of before even considering his own needs. At first, Sam had believed his brother was the most selfless person on the face of the planet. Now he knew better.

Dean was afraid. 

Afraid of being alone. Afraid of being left behind. It was his brother’s biggest weakness. So he compensated by making sure he was needed. Sam and Dad had always turned to Dean, because they had known whatever they needed would be taken care of without a fuss, quickly and efficiently without complaint. Dean had always made sure to do whatever it took to make them happy – even at his own expense. It had taken Sam a long time to figure out that Dean wasn’t truly doing it out of the goodness of his heart, but because he was afraid it he failed, they would leave.

Like Mom did.

Like Dad.

Like Sam.

If he had had any idea what his leaving for Stanford would do to his brother, he may have changed his mind. No. That was a lie. He would’ve never given up the chance to get out, to be normal, to go to school, meet Jessica and have a real life. But he would’ve never cut of all communication with Dean. He would’ve never made his brother believe he didn’t need him.

But that was in the past. Sam hoped Dean believed he was as important to Sam as Sam was to him. Call it codependence, call it unhealthy, but in their line of work, having even one person who you knew would do anything – even die for you – was a prize more valuable than all the gold in the world.

Dean had died to save him. Sam had finally been able to return the favor.

Finding his brother in Purgatory had been the single most important thing Sam had ever done. Just knowing he had been able to save his brother, bring him back and keep him safe, was worth more than anything. Dean had always believed he was expendable, that his life wasn’t as important as the ones he protected. Sam intended to make sure he never felt that way again.

The younger hunter rubbed his eyes and focused on the notebook in his hands. As he read over the list of components necessary for the ritual, he couldn’t help but feel they were, as usual, in way over their heads.

“You re-reading the smutty parts?” 

Sam looked up to see the challenge dancing in his brother’s eyes. Dean had situated himself on the old, broken down lazy-boy recliner, his bottle of Jack cradled in his lap. His eyes were droopy, but his mouth was lifted in a grin as he sleepily gazed across the room.

Sam snorted a laugh. “I’m not sure Kevin knows what the smutty parts even are.” 

Dean returned the laugh and took another long pull from of whiskey.

“Then what’s got your panties in a twist over there, Samantha?”

Sam ignored the barb and shook his head. “This list, man. Some of these are going to be impossible to find. I mean, yeah we can get the grace of an angel thanks to Cas, but ‘the essence of a Knight’...” He looked up, a hand waving in the air. “Does that mean a knight like Lancelot knight? Or… or… some kind of knight we’ve never even heard of? And how exactly are we supposed to get the blood of a Hell Hound?”

Dean took another drink and let the arm holding the bottle drop to the side of the chair. “I’ve been thinking about that.”

“About how to summon a Hellhound?”

“Maybe we don’t need to summon one,” Dean replied, his head tilted in thought. “Maybe we just find one that’s already here.”

Sam frowned, wondering if his brother’s legendary alcohol tolerance had been dramatically lowered by his stay in Purgatory. “What?”

Dean shrugged and leaned his head back onto the chair, allowing his eyes to drift closed. “We’ve got you and the mathlete in there. With your geek powers squared, you should be able to dig up someone who had a sudden windfall say… ten years ago.”

Sam stared at his brother. “Crossroads deal? Dean, that’s… that’s actually brilliant.”

Dean grinned but didn’t bother to open his eyes. “Could you put that in writing?”

Sam chuckled in response. “And give you ammunition? I’m not that stupid.” He returned his attention to the notebook and the list of ingredients they would have to find. “But what about the rest of these? Myrrh from a holy tree? What kind of tree does Myrrh come from? And what makes it holy?”

“Squirrels?”

Sam glared at his brother. 

“I can feel the bitchface from here, Sam.” Dean opened his eyes, then rolled them when he saw expected expression of irritation on his brother’s face. “One miracle at a time, dude.”

After a moment, the younger brother sighed, letting his shoulders sag in surrender. “Yeah,” Sam tossed the notebook on the couch beside him and slumped down, mirroring his brother’s relaxed pose. He yawned, the long drive and events of the day finally catching up with him. “We’ll work it out, huh?”

Dean couldn’t stifle a yawn of his own, bringing the bottle up, cradling it like a teddy bear. He snuggled down into the worn cushion, comfortable and content to be in a familiar place, his brother nearby. “We always do.”

…………………………………….

Sam woke to the tantalizing aroma of bacon sizzling on the stove. His mouth watering, he opened his eyes to find himself lying prone on the couch, an old woolen blanket thrown over him, a slight crick in his neck. He shoved the blanket to the back of the couch and pushed himself to a sitting position, using one hand to knead the pain in his neck as he turned to look toward the small kitchen.

Dean was facing the antiquated stove, spatula scrambling through what smelled like eggs in a large skillet, a thin dingy towel thrown over one shoulder. He looked so damn… normal, that Sam found himself smiling, swallowing down a lump in his throat at the sight. He was just so happy to have his brother back, to be able to talk to him, watch him do… anything… even make breakfast.

There were a few plastic grocery bags lined up on the narrow counter and along the floor, indicating Dean had been up long enough to make a supply run from one of the small towns surrounding the cabin. Sam looked at his watch, groaning when he realized it was barely 7:00 in the morning. He knew there wasn’t much in the cabin to eat, he had been living on canned stew and crackers for quite a while, not wanting to waste the time to shop when the more important task of saving his brother loomed over him. So, Dean had gone out and God knows what time this morning to get them enough supplies to last a while.

Sam frowned at the implications. Dean had seemed fairly content late last night before they both dozed off in their respective ‘beds’, but his rest must not have lasted long. He knew the older man was still reeling from his forced internment in Purgatory. Like Dean’s time in Hell, Sam wasn’t expecting him to get past it overnight. It would take time and Sam had every intention of being there each step of the way. He wasn’t going to let Dean lose himself in a bottle this time. If Dean didn’t want to talk about it, Sam would help him find other ways to deal with the nightmares and destructive thoughts that went along with it. He knew what PTSD looked like. He’d seen Dean go down this road before, but he wasn’t going to let it take his brother down this time. 

He knew his brother. He knew how Dean liked to bury things deep down. It had worked for most things, but not Hell. Sam doubted it would work for Purgatory either, but he’d give Dean some leeway… for now. Until they had a handle on this TDA of Kevin’s, he would let his brother do what he needed to do to function, but he wasn’t going to let him fall too far. He’d learned that lesson the hard way. Dean was going to have to get used to Sam in his pocket 24/7. If he wanted to drink himself into oblivion, they’d get shit-faced together. If he wanted to pretend he wasn’t waking from nightmares, Sam would keep the conversation light or focused on the job. Keep Dean’s mind from burying itself too deep inside his own head. Sam had hoped the half bottle of whiskey his brother had downed would keep him out long enough to get some real rest, but his hope that Dean’s alcohol tolerance had diminished during his long stay in Monsterland was obviously for naught. 

Unfortunately, the older man’s ‘little brother radar’ was still in top operating condition, too. 

“You gonna sit there all day or come eat?”

Sam pushed himself off the couch and stretched, holding the position until all the vertebrae in his spine cracked licentiously. He smiled, blissful, feeling whole and refreshed for the first time in a long while.

“That looked vaguely dirty,” Dean turned, placing the skillet of eggs on a hot pad in the center of the small formica table. “Do I even want to know what you were fantasizing about?”

You, moron.

“Nope,” Sam said out loud, knowing his brother would tease him relentlessly for admitting how having Dean back made everything right again.

Dean eyed him, one eyebrow raised and gave Sam a knowing look before turning the expression into an offended scowl. “That’s just creepy, Sam.” He turned back to the stove, but not before the younger man caught the contented grin on his face. 

Sam shuffled to the table, dropping down into a chair as Kevin, his short hair sticking up in small tufts, ambled out of the bedroom, rubbing the palm of his hand into his eye. 

He looked all of five years old.

“Do I smell bacon?”

………………………………………….

They got down to business after breakfast, Kevin and Sam taking turns searching the net, Dean scanning a pile of newspapers he’d picked up on his morning excursion into town. The silence of the cabin was broken only by the clicking of computer keys, playing a staccato accompaniment to the chirping birds outside the window. It was close to noon when Kevin sat up from his slumped position on the couch, his eyes trained on the screen of Sam’s laptop.

“Uh, guys… I think I might have something.”

Both brothers dropped the papers they’d been reading and leaned over the back of the couch.

“Husband of oil heiress killed in unknown animal attack.” Sam read from the screen. He scanned the article quickly, grunting agreeably as he read. After a few moments, he summed the article up for his brother. “Seems this family… the Cassity’s… struck oil out of the blue on their ranch where nobody believed oil was possible.”

“Don’t tell me,” Dean interjected. “This was about a decade ago?”

Sam scanned further down the article, nodding affirmatively. “Almost to the day,” he responded. 

Dean dropped his head to his arms on the back of the couch. “But the hound has already killed Richie Rich,” he muttered from his bent position. “We’re too late.”

“Maybe not,” Sam stood and stretched a kink from his back. “According to the article, it was his wife’s family that struck it rich. Why would he sell his soul for someone else to hit the jackpot? Why not himself?”

Dean thought for a moment, raising his head to meet his brother’s eyes. “You think this dude got in the way of whoever the Hellhound was really after? His wife maybe?”

“Or he made another deal,” Sam shrugged. “It’s not unheard of for crossroads demons to hang around after they’re summoned and make a few deals on the side.”

“True.” Dean pushed himself up and leaned against the back of the couch. “So if this guy…”

“Carl Granville,” Kevin supplied.

“So if Carl made a deal for something other than black gold, whoever made the original deal is still on the chopping block.”

“Think it’s worth a look?” 

Dean nodded. “Let’s head to Southfork.”

TBC…


	3. Act III

Kevin Isn’t Too Far Away  
Act III

The Cassity ranch sat on 50 acres of rolling green countryside just outside the town of Shoshone, Iowa. Turning the Impala from the main road, Dean steered the Chevy up the driveway, angling through a large set of elaborately decorated cast iron gates. The well-maintained approach brought them up over a small crest then split into two directions. The path to the right led to large, open-ended stables, housing at least a dozen well cared for horses. The left drive circled in front of an ornate mansion, complete with perfectly manicured landscaping and bubbling center fountain. 

Dean pulled the car to a stop, both brothers craning their necks to get a view of the large stone house.

“Wow,” Sam breathed.

Dean nodded in agreement. The house was something out of a magazine – or Hollywood movie. White marble columns set against pale stone walls, everything about it screamed ‘wealth’. Even the ivy climbing the trellis looked expensive. 

They’d decided to go in as state investigators, feeling the family may not want to talk to reporters in their time of grief. They were dressed in suits, both buttoning the jackets as they stepped out of the car, heads swiveling to take in the expanse of the grounds.

“Can I help you?”

The hunters turned, finding a pretty young woman of Hispanic descent standing behind them. She wore her long dark hair in a ponytail at the nape of her neck, falling loosely down against her worn flannel shirt. A coiled rope was in one hand, slapping against her curve-hugging jeans, the other hand hitched into a pocket.

They pulled their ID’s and stepped closer to the young woman in unison. 

“Hi,” Dean gave her a genuine smile. She was definitely someone he would’ve liked to meet under different circumstances. “I’m Officer Long, this is my partner, Officer Bradshaw.”

The woman glanced at the badges, then stepped forward and held out her hand in greeting. “I’m Ellie. I work for the Cassity’s. I take it you’re here about Carl?”

Sam nodded. “We understand it’s being ruled as an animal attack?”

Ellie shifted on her feet, her eyes swinging from one man to the other. “And the states’ interest in an animal attack would be…?” She voice rose in pitch, leaving the question open. 

“The Cassity family is…” Dean looked toward the house. “Influential.” He turned back to Ellie, giving her his most trustworthy expression. “We’re here to dot all the I’s and cross all the T’s. Make sure everything is what it seems.”

Before Ellie could respond, a sleek black limousine pulled up the drive, stopping in front of the main house. A man and a woman ambled down the steps, both carrying a tumbler of liquid in their hands. The doors of the limo opened and two women exited the vehicle on either side. The two people from the house greeted them with little enthusiasm.

“Warm family reunion.” Sam observed.

Ellie snorted a laugh. “The Cassity’s aren’t exactly the Brady’s.” She nodded a head toward the group as the limo drove off. “The two who came out of the house are Noah Cassity and his oldest daughter Alice Granville.”

“She was married to the victim?” Sam inquired, his eyes assessing the family as they greeted each other. The father and daughter tipped their drinks to the new arrivals, watching as they gathered their bags from the driver, but didn’t greet them with a hug or even a handshake as would be expected for arriving relatives. A death in the family was never a celebratory occasion, but these four were acting as if they barely knew each other – or could barely tolerate being in each other’s presence. The brothers exchanged a look of puzzlement at the apathetic exchanges. Despite the issues the Winchesters may have had between them, showing how much they cared when necessary was never a problem.

“The new arrivals are middle daughter Cindy, who is some kind of singer – although her last album, a collection of Christmas tunes for dogs didn’t sell so well.”

“Hard to believe,” Dean commented, receiving a warm, conspiratorial grin from Ellie.

“And the other woman is Margot Cassity, the youngest. She moved away not long after the family struck gold. I’m not sure what she does, but I don’t think she talks to them much. They aren’t a close knit clan.”

Sam snorted in agreement. They watched as the family turned without exchanging a word, and headed up the steps of the mansion, spread out so as not to be near any of the others.

“Happy group,” Sam commented. He turned back to the Ranch Manager, hiding his grin when he caught her giving his brother a full body appraisal. Apparently she liked what she saw. “Thank you for your time, Miss….”

“Just Ellie.”

Dean returned his attention to the woman, and her smile brightened as she met his eyes. 

“Thank you for your time, Ellie.” Sam continued. He was heartened to see the smile Dean returned to her was genuine. Maybe this hunt would be beneficial in more ways than one. “We may need to speak with you again. Is there some way we can contact you?” 

If Dean knew Sam was asking for the older man’s benefit, he showed no sign, and kept his eyes locked on Ellie, the lopsided grin on his face warm and true.

Ellie hitched a thumb over her shoulder in response to Sam’s question, but didn’t take her eyes off Dean. “I have a room behind the stables,” she said. “Stop by anytime.” She nodded to Sam before returning her gaze to Dean, her eyes sending a message only a blind person could miss. Sam stepped closer to his brother as the young woman walked away, swaying her jean clad hips invitingly. 

“I’m guessing you want to take care of that interview?” Sam surmised. He was pleased to see Dean responding to the pretty girl. After all he’d been through, it was a relief to have a bit of the ‘old Dean’ peeking through.

Dean pursed his lips and took a deep breath, tilting his head in response. “I think I could take one for the team.”

………………………………………

They weren’t greeted with much enthusiasm by the Cassity family, and Dean was starting to wonder if these people actually had emotions. Once they had established they were only there to follow up and make sure Carl’s death was what it seemed, the remaining members of the family became more cooperative, offering the ‘officers’ a drink while they poured for themselves. Tempted as he was, Dean politely declined, Sam’s unobtrusive elbow jabbing into his ribs having nothing to do with it.

Sam followed Alice, Carl’s widow out onto the back veranda as Dean took a seat on the couch facing the other three Cassity’s.

“I take it none of you were around at the time of the attack?” he began. He pulled a small notebook from his pocket and pretended to reference the blank page as he spoke.

“No,” Cindy Cassity responded first. She took a drink from her tumbler of scotch, trying for sophistication. Her grimace at the taste ruined the illusion. “I was in a recording studio in Nashville, working on my next album.”

“What is it this time, Easter songs for cats?” the youngest sister, Margot, mumbled not quite under her breath.

Cindy gave her a snide look but didn’t respond. It was obvious the sisters didn’t like each other.

Uncomfortable with the tension, Dean cleared his throat and shifted his attention to Noah Cassity, who had remained indifferent to his daughters’ bickering, content with his third glass of scotch in the last ten minutes.

“How about you, Mr. Cassity? I don’t suppose you saw anything the night Carl was attacked?”

Carl seemed startled to hear his name and he sat up straighter, spilling a few drops of the alcohol over the rim of the glass and onto the expensive looking upholstery. Dean flinched at the waste of the precious liquid.

“Uh, no,” he managed to answer, his voice slurred. “I was already in bed, asleep. I didn’t hear a thing.”

“Shocking,” Dean mumbled to himself. He turned back to the sisters who were taking turns glaring at each other. “Did Carl get along with everyone? Have any enemies that you know of?”

It was Margot who answered this time. “Carl was a wonderful man,” she said with surprising sincerity. “I can’t think of anyone who would want to harm him.”

Dean paused a moment, thrown by the genuineness of her statement in comparison to the contempt she openly exhibited toward her sister. 

Cindy snorted a laugh and crossed one arm over her chest. “She’s just saying that because she’s always had a thing for Carl. It just about killed her when he married Alice.”

Margot shifted her eyes to the ground, a look of resentment crossing her face. “Carl and I were friends. That’s all. He loved Alice.”

Cindy tossed her head back and laughed. “Still in denial, huh Margie?”

“Cindy, leave your sister alone. She’s been through enough.”

The middle daughter tossed a look of disdain her father’s way. “Still sticking up for the little brat, huh, Dad? Why don’t you just concentrate on getting shit-faced and leave the talking to the sober people?”

Dean sat back against the stiff cushion of the chair, hoping Sam was having better luck with the widow. He looked to his left, where the decanter of scotch sat on a side table with an empty glass. Maybe he’d take that drink now.

………………………………….

Sam stood with Alice Granville, staring out over the green hills of the Cassity ranch. Horses dotted the landscape, running and frolicking between stark white fences. It was idyllic.

“It’s beautiful,” he acknowledged. “Have you lived here all your life?”

Alice nodded, holding the tumbler of scotch in one hand, resting the other on the railing stretched across the back of the deck. “It wasn’t always like this,’ she admitted, her voice flat. “It was a farm once. Fields of corn, soybeans, some cattle, hogs... Daddy worked hard to make ends meet. Then, a few months after mom died, Dad just gave up. Drinking too much, not able to get the crops in. The creditors started calling all the time. We were going to lose everything.”

“But then you struck oil?”

She nodded, her eyes never leaving the rolling vista of the ranch. “When we found oil on the west side of the property, it was like a miracle. Nobody could believe it, but there it was. Suddenly, we were rich and the farm was saved. But Daddy didn’t have it in him to work it anymore, so we started raising horses instead.”

“And where did Carl fit in to all this?” he prompted.

“He didn’t,” she answered, her voice not changing at the mention of her dead husband. “Carl was a good guy, I guess.” She frowned, her eyes losing focus as she talked. “The funny thing is, I know I should feel sad – I mean my husband of ten years has just died and I should be in mourning, but…” she paused, trying to put her thoughts into words. “I just don’t feel anything.” She finally admitted. “I mean, I’m sad he’s dead, but I’m not… sad.” She turned to look at Sam, her eyes bereft of emotion. “I really don’t feel much at all. Does that make sense?”

Sam smiled tentatively. “You’re probably just in shock, Mrs. Granville. Everyone grieves in their own way.”

She thought about his words, and finally shrugged, taking a sip from her drink and turning back to the view. “Maybe. I guess that’s what it is.”

Sam raised his brows, surprised at her apathetic response. He was about to excuse himself, hoping his brother had better luck with the other three when something Alice had said made him pause.

“Did you say you and Carl had been married for ten years?”

Alice turned to him, her head tilted in question. “Yes. It was almost ten years to the day that Carl asked me to marry him. Why?”

“And you two had been together for how long?” Sam was starting to get an idea that his initial hopes about the Cassity’s making more than one crossroads deal was valid. 

“Not long, really,” she answered. “To be honest, I’ve known Carl most of my life, he just never… I don’t know. I guess I just never noticed him. And then he asked me out and a few days later asked me to marry him. I said yes. It was all very fast.”

Sam could barely contain his excitement. Carl Glanville hadn’t made the deal for the family’s sudden wealth. That means someone else did. It also meant the Hellhound was still around. They still had a shot.

Alice was looking at him funny, so he calmed himself, trying not to seem too eager to get back to his brother. 

“Well, I’m sorry for your loss, ma’am. We’ll be in touch.”

…………………………………

“So Carl sold his soul for Alice?”

Sam nodded. “According to her, she barely even knew he was alive. Then one day, poof!” He straightened his hands in front of him like a bomb exploding. “He asks her out and puts a ring on it.”

Dean chuckled at his brother’s attempt at street talk. “Okay, Beyonce. So even if Carl was the one to summon the demon, he probably wasn’t the only one to make a deal.”

“Someone else sold their soul for the oil strike,” Sam agreed. 

“Or something else.”

“True,” Sam nodded. “But the only deal we can be sure of is the Cassity’s sudden wealth. So we just have to figure out which Cassity it was.”

“The old man?” 

They were outside the mansion, leaning against the Impala, both watching the house. Night was falling and they both believed if the Hellhound was going to strike, it was going to strike soon. If they planned on catching it and retrieving any of its blood for the spell, they would have to stick around the place. Their cover as investigators gave them some leeway, and so far nobody had questioned two State Police officers hanging around the ranch, looking into the unusual circumstances of Carl Granville’s death, but they knew it wouldn’t last long. Eventually someone was going to start wondering why they were so interested in the family and start making inquiries.

“I don’t think so,” Sam loosened his collar, watching as his brother shed his jacket and tie and tossed them through the open window of the car. “According to Alice, Noah was pretty broken up about the death of his wife. I suspect if he was going to make a deal for anything, it would be for her, not money.”

“So that leaves the ugly step-sisters.”

“Cindy and Margot. Either of them give off any vibes?”

Dean snorted a derisive laugh. “The only vibe they’re sending is dysfunction. They can’t stand each other. It was like being in the middle of a Tyler Perry movie.” He cocked a head as he mentally catalogued his ‘interview’ with the family. “Although my money’s on Margot. If Cindy had asked for anything, I’m sure it would’ve been less altruistic than for her family to strike it rich.”

“Altruistic?” Sam grinned at his brother.

“Shut up,” Dean chided without missing a beat. “Margot seemed to be the only one genuinely upset about Carl’s death. And Noah jumped right in to defend her when Cindy insinuated she had more than platonic feelings for her sister’s dead husband.”

“So Margot is our target?” Sam nodded once, his lips drawn down in consideration. “Works for me. You want to take the first shift?”

Dean’s eyes had been drawn to their right, where the beautiful ranch manager was exiting the stables, speaking with another worker.

“Uh, no. I still have one more interview to take care of.”

Sam followed his brother’s gaze, a knowing grin breaking on his face as he noticed Ellie give them a small wave. “You gotta do what you gotta do, man.”

“Word, Sammy.”

………………………………………

Sam blew into his hands, watching as the small cloud of steam rose dissipated in the air. The early Iowa spring was still on the cool side, and even though the family knew the two ‘State Police Investigators’ were hanging around to ensure their safety, they hadn’t put out the welcome matt or invited them inside since their initial meeting. So, while his brother was off ‘interviewing’ the comely ranch manager, Sam was stuck on guard duty, in the growing darkness, as the temperature dropped. 

Talk about taking one for the team.

Of course, if it meant Dean could relax a bit, Sam was more than willing to take the hit. His brother had been trying to pretend everything was okay since he’d returned from Purgatory, but Sam wasn’t fooled. There was something… off about him. Sam couldn’t put his finger on it yet, but it was almost like Dean was less… Dean. The older man had always shown the world a gruff, devil-may-care exterior, but a lifetime of observing his big brother had shown Sam that Dean felt things deeper and more passionately than most. He tended to bury those feelings, pretending nothing could faze him, but in truth, he buried things because he felt them too intensely. He didn’t know how to deal with what he perceived as failures and flaws in himself. Faults that no one else could see.

But since his return, Sam had noticed a lessening of that inherent passion that made his brother the man he was. Sam wasn’t sure if Purgatory had taught Dean how to hide things more successfully, or taken something from him. Either way, Sam wanted to find a way to give Dean back what he’d lost. Maybe some time with Ellie, some time to remember what it meant to be human, some time free of the pain he carried, would be a good first step.

His attention was drawn to the mansion’s front steps as the youngest Cassity, Margot, stepped out of the house and moved down a path on the far side of the grounds. He pushed himself off the car as Margot nervously looked around, bolting down the path and around the corner of the barn. The cobblestone path, he knew from his earlier recon, led down around the buildings and out into heavily forested area filled with juniper bushes and towering old oak trees. The area was bathed in darkness, the overhead canopy of early spring leaves on the trees blocking what little moonlight filtered through the clouds. As Sam approached the end of the stone path, he looked around, trying to determine which direction the woman may have taken from the path, holding his breath to listen to the silence surrounding him.

A scream pierced the air directly ahead of him and he burst into action, running through the trees as the sounds of struggle intensified. Low hanging branches snatched at him, catching in his sleeves and leaving light scratches along the exposed skin of his face and hands. As he approached a small clearing, his heart dove to the pit of his stomach as his eyes focused on a dark shape, unmoving, lying a few yards away in the shadows.

He approached cautiously, already knowing what he would find. As he bent next to Margot’s bloody body, he let out a pained sigh, swallowing as he recognized the vacant, lifeless gaze in her eyes.

……………………………….

Dean approached the young woman, heartened by her lopsided smile. 

“I figured you would be gone by now, Officer Long.” Ellie looked at him from under long dark lashes, her voice betraying her delight in seeing him again.

“We’re hanging around to make sure nothing else happens to the family,” he lied smoothly. “At least until a security detail can determine whether there’s any further risk.”

Ellie’s smile faltered momentarily, but she quickly hid the lapse as she turned to move back to the stable. “So, you’re just going to hang out by your car for the rest of the night?”

Dean fell into step beside her, his eyes on the path they were following, a grin playing on his lips. “You have a better idea?”

Ellie laughed out loud. “Are all you cops so direct?”

“All part of the training, ma’am.” He felt good. Good to be bantering, flirting with her like this. To be honest, he’d been afraid he’d forgotten how. With all the crap that had been forced on him – even before he’d taken out Dick Roman and been zapped into Monsterland – he had felt the weight on his shoulder building each and every day. He’d been drowning in responsibility, not only for his brother, but for the whole world.

It wasn’t like it was the first time, but like he’d said what seemed like a lifetime ago, it was like the world wanted to end. They kept saving it and it kept finding new cliffs to drive off. That would be more than enough for anyone to give up. But he’d tried that before, and the world obviously had no intention of leaving him alone. It was his lot to carry the burden as long as he could. 

Since Purgatory, he’d felt… like something was missing. Like a part of him had been taken. Turns out, it was the part that made the burden harder to bear, and he wasn’t sure how to feel about that. On one hand, it made things easier. He didn’t feel like he was smothering under a weight so heavy, he didn’t feel the same passion for what he knew was his purpose. On the other hand, he knew that lack of passion was wrong. That his entire life had been spent saving people, hunting things… The family business was more than what he did, it was who he was. And now he was somehow… less. 

It didn’t make sense, and he wasn’t in the right frame of mind to figure it out. He definitely wasn’t going to mention it to Sammy. The kid was already watching him like he was going to shatter into a million pieces, Dean had no intention of giving him anything else to emo about. He shuddered as he remembered the touch of the monster souls in Purgatory, how they had made him feel. Like they had leeched part of his very humanity from him. But he wasn’t in Purgatory anymore. Sam had found him and gotten him out. He was home; alive and whole. Right?

“Are you okay?”

Ellie laid a hand on his arm, pulling him back to the present.

“Sorry?”

She laughed again, a warm, pleasant sound that made Dean feel comfortable. “You were shivering,” she explained as they entered the stables. “I know it gets a little chilly around here this time of year, I was just wondering if you…”

“I’m fine,” Dean interrupted. “Just lost in thought for a second.” He pasted a smile on his face. “So, how long have you worked for the Cassity’s?”

“All my life,” she responded, reaching to hang the bridle she’d been carrying on a peg near the door. “My dad worked the fields when he first came here from Columbia. Mr. Cassity was always good to him. Even when they fell onto hard times, they tried to help my parents as much as possible. When they found oil, they hired my mom to work in the house. You know, cooking, cleaning.”

“And you?”

She smiled. “I love the horses. When they decided to quit farming and turn the place into a horse ranch, I begged for a job in the stables. I’ve been here ever since.”

Dean returned her smile, her love for her job and the family obvious. “Did you know Carl well?”

Ellie’s smile vanished. “He was a good man. His death was a tragedy.”

“His wife doesn’t seem too broken up about it.”

Ellie gave him a look that Dean couldn’t quite identify. It was like she was afraid. “Alice wasn’t the one who was in love with Carl at first,” she finally spoke, her voice low and hushed. “Margot was always following him around when we were kids. She had a real crush on him.”

“But?” Dean prompted, his interest piqued. They suspected Carl had made a deal for Alice’s affections, having it confirmed was a plus.

“Carl only had eyes for Alice.” Ellie said. “And she didn’t pay him much attention until…”

“Until about ten years ago,” Dean finished for her. 

Ellie shuffled her feet, her eyes evasive. “I guess. But –“

A scream sounded in the distance, and they both jumped at the sound. Dean took off at a run. He could hear Ellie’s boots clicking off the pavement behind him, and stopped abruptly as the Impala came into view. There was no one near the car, no one in the courtyard of the mansion – no Sam. 

His heart was in his throat at the thought of his brother facing off against a Hellhound alone. He remembered every second of his encounter with the entity that had torn him apart – it was something he would never forget – and to even consider his brother may have fallen victim to that was enough to freeze him momentarily. 

“Sam!” he screamed into the darkness, aware the rest of the Cassity family had spilled from the front entrance of the mansion onto the lighted porch. “Sam!”

He turned as an answering call met his ears, taking off at a dead run down a cobblestone path, in the direction of his brother’s voice. Sam hadn’t sounded like he was in trouble, but Dean wasn’t taking any chances, focusing on nothing but the path until he skidded to a halt at the end.

“Sam!” he repeated, his eyes flickering around, trying to discern anything within the shadowy confines of the trees before him.

“Dean! Over here!”

He darted into the trees, straight ahead, his breath catching in his throat as he came upon his brother, leaning over the still form of Margot Cassity.

A quick shake of the younger man’s head answered Dean’s unspoken inquiry.

Dean’s shoulder’s sagged, his harsh breaths fogging the cool night air. 

They were too late.

They had failed.

TBC…


	4. Act IV

Kevin Isn’t Too Far Away  
Act IV

The hunters stood to the side, watching silently as the ambulance pulled away. The remaining members of the Cassity family turned and mutely filed back into the house, none of them showing any outward emotion at the demise of the youngest. It was as if they’d all expected it. As if they knew it would happen.

“This is all kinds of wrong,” Dean remarked, his eyes narrowed at the apathy the family displayed. In his experience, family was everything. He was disgusted by what he saw. He just couldn’t understand it.

“Maybe they knew about the deal?” Sam offered. “Maybe they knew the price for their fortune.”

Dean snorted derisively. “And apparently they’re just fine with it.”

“We don’t know that, Dean.” Sam had no idea why he was defending the remaining members of the family. Maybe it was his conversation with Alice. She didn’t act as if she had any idea what was happening. She was confused as to why she felt nothing about her husband’s death. It wasn’t apathy, it was… incomprehension. Like she knew she should be mourning, but had no idea why she wasn’t. 

The approach of footsteps stayed the older man’s retort and they both turned to find Ellie, her denim jacket pulled closed across her chest.

“You okay?” Dean asked, sincere concern lacing his voice. 

Ellie nodded, her expression one of shock, her eyes watching the ambulance pull down the long, winding drive.

“Was it the dog?”

The brother’s exchanged a look of surprise.

“You’ve seen it?”

Her voice was soft, her gaze unfocused in the distance. “Ummm, no. I just…”

Dean stepped forward, placing a hand on her arm. “What, Ellie? It’s important.”

She shook herself, turning her head to focus on his face. “I’ve heard it,” she finally admitted. She glanced behind him to Sam, the sadness in her eyes replaced by fear. “The last few nights. Ever since Carl….”

Something inside Dean froze. He knew what her admission meant. 

“You made a deal.”

She jumped as if slapped, stepping back, stumbling against the asphalt. “I had to.”

Hearing his brother sigh, Dean bowed his head. He couldn’t hide the disappointment in his voice when he continued. “What did you ask for?”

Ellie shivered, pulling her arms tighter around herself. “My mom. She had cancer. She was dying. I saw a man talking to Carl and then Margot. He approached me, said he could tell I was troubled. Said he could help.”

Dean’s face softened, his eyes finding and holding hers. Sacrificing yourself for family was one thing he could understand.

“You sold your soul to save your mom?”

“What?” Ellie frowned, her eyes wide with confusion. She took another step back, creating a space between herself from the hunters. “My soul? What are you talking about?”

Sam stepped forward, reaching out with one hand as if to calm her. “This man you spoke to, what did he look like?”

Her face scrunched up as she recalled the memory. “He was short, dark hair, spoke with an accent. He was wearing a heavy black coat. I thought it was weird since it was pretty warm that spring.” She shifted her gaze between the two men, surprised to see their expressions turn to ones of anger.

“Crowley, damnit.”

“You know him?”

Dean sighed, nodded once. “We’ve met. He didn’t tell you the deal was for your soul?”

“What? No!” Ellie’s voice rose in shock. “He said he’d be by in ten years to collect something from me, but he never said anything about my soul.” Her countenance crumbled, her voice began to shake. “Is… is that true?”

“Lying, limey bastard,” Dean spat and turned away.

Sam ignored his brother’s outburst, lowering his voice to respond. “He was a Crossroad’s demon,” he explained. “They make deals, give people what they want in exchange for their souls.”

“Crossroads demon?” Ellie stared at him as if he were insane. “Are you nuts? There’s no such thing!”

Dean turned back, smiling sadly. “I wish like hell that was true. But don’t worry, we’re not going to let anything happen to you.”

The assurance seemed to comfort the woman and her eyes locked on Dean’s. She was still scared but nodded, accepting that they would do everything within their power to protect her.

“You’re not really cops, are you?”

Dean smiled, throwing a glance at his brother before responding. “No.”

“You’re partners?” She was speaking to Dean, but she threw a glance toward Sam who grinned in return.

“Brothers.” Dean tipped his head in Sam’s direction, shaking his head, wondering why people always assumed. “We… deal with things like this.”

She nodded hesitantly, eyes squinted as she processed. “That must suck.”

Dean snorted his response, Sam was a bit more eloquent.

“You have no idea.”

…………………………..

“A Hellhound,” Ellie repeated, the skepticism that had colored her voice since they’d explained the real reason for their appearance beginning to fade. “You’re serious?”

They were in Ellie’s quarters on the far side of the stables. It was a small room with a double bed on one side, a worn leather couch and easy chair taking up the rest of the room. There was an alcove that housed a tiny kitchen with an equally minute bathroom just off the main quarters. The two large hunters took up a good portion of the space, Sam standing, leaning against the door, Dean sitting on the edge of the bed next to Ellie.

“Scout’s honor,” Dean said, holding up two fingers in a facsimile of the Boy Scout salute.

“And you think Carl and Margot both made deals with him, too?”

Sam nodded. “It seems that way. From what we could figure, Carl asked for Alice’s love and Margot was the one who asked for the fortune.”

Ellie was nodding slowly, her eyes trained on her hands, clasped in her lap. “And I got my mom healed.”

Sam exchanged a look with his brother, seeing the concern and sympathy shining in the older man’s eyes. He understood how close this whole thing was hitting to home. Dean knew exactly what had driven Ellie to do what she did. They both knew the damage it could do to whoever was left behind.

He tossed a burlap bag to his brother then tilted his head toward the door. When Dean nodded in understanding, Sam silently slipped out, pulling his phone from his pocket as he stepped out into the cool night air.

He punched a number in on the device and held it to his ear, watching his breath mist and float as he waited for an answer.

“Sam?”

“Kevin.” The hunter was surprised at how good it was to hear the prophet’s voice. It had only been two days since they’d last spoken to the teenager, but it seemed much longer. 

“Hey, man. How’s it going? Did you find it?”

Sam nodded automatically, forgetting that Kevin couldn’t see him. “Look, Kevin, we’ve kind of got a situation here. We’ve got one more chance to gank this thing, but it’s kind of hard to catch something you can’t even see.” He’d discussed it with his brother and, outside of being able to see the Hellhound’s warm breath fogging in the surrounding air, they had no idea how to see it coming, let alone fight the damn thing. Dean had confessed, his voice shaking more than either of them would admit, that he hadn’t felt a thing until the hound was tearing into him. If they couldn’t figure a way to identify its whereabouts, they wouldn’t know it was upon them until it was too late.

“Wait!” Kevin’s voice became animated, and Sam could hear him shuffling through pages of his notebook. “There was something… here! It didn’t make any sense to me at the time, but it says the Hellhound can be seen through an object touched by Holy fire.”

“Holy fire?” Sam repeated. “Like from Holy oil?”

Sam could almost see the teenager shrug. “I have no idea, dude. This God-speak wasn’t exactly in my curriculum.”

It was worth a try. 

“No, it’s great, Kevin. Thanks, man. I’ll get back to you.”

He slammed the phone back into his pocket and headed back into Ellie’s room.

………………………………….

“Holy fire?” Dean’s eyes were wide as Sam relayed Kevin’s message. He rose from the edge of the bed, walking slowly across the small living quarters, his hand smoothing the back of his head as he contemplated the meaning of the words. He stopped, his hand rising in question. “Like glasses passed through the fire from holy oil?”

Sam nodded. “That’s exactly what I was thinking.” He turned to Ellie, his excitement showing on his face. “Do you have any pairs of glasses around here? Safety goggles, anything?”

She moved to the antique desk in the corner by the bed and pulled open a drawer, rummaging around for a moment before producing a pair of cat’s eye glasses. “They were my mom’s,” she explained with a shrug. “I think there’s another pair in the stables, too.”

Dean reached out and took the glasses from her hand. “They’ll do.” He gave her a sincere smile. “Where in the stable?”

She directed them to the storage room near the front of the building, offering to show them, but meeting resistance from both men. Dean grabbed the canvas bag Sam had tossed him earlier and placed it in her hands. 

“This is goofer dust. It’ll keep the Hellhound out for now. Sprinkle it in a line around the door and windows after we leave.” He looked at her sternly, his expression brooking no argument. “Stay put,” he ordered, though his voice held none of its usual brusqueness. “Sammy and I will handle this. Don’t come out unless one of us says it’s clear. You understand?”

She swallowed hard but nodded, recognizing the seriousness of his voice. “Be careful.”

Dean grinned as Sam opened the door, winking at her as he moved to follow his brother. “Give me a reason.”

She threw herself toward him, their bodies colliding with surprising force. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him in for a rough but passionate kiss.

“How’s that?” she asked, her voice husky as she leaned back after a few moments, reluctantly breaking the connection.

Dean licked his lips, tasting her on them, grinning at her from under lowered lashes. “That works.” 

…………………………….

Dean found the storage room easily, hastily hunting through the haphazardly stacked crates and boxes. After a few minutes of searching, he extricated a pair of black, plastic framed glasses as well as a pair of slightly cracked safety glasses. A devious smile played on his face as he compared the safety glasses to the pair of tortoise shell cat’s eye glasses Ellie had handed him from the drawer, deciding the cat’s eyes were more Sam’s style. He shoved the safety glasses back into a box just as Sam returned with the flask of Holy oil they stored in the trunk of the Impala.

He held up the second pair of glasses, waiting while his brother poured a small amount of oil onto the cement surface of the stable floor and lit it on fire. Dean held the cat’s eye glasses over the fire, passing each lens through the blue tinged flame three times. He handed them to Sam before doing the same with the black frames.

Waving them in the brisk air to cool as they stomped out the fire, Dean placed the glasses on his face, giving his brother a cheesy grin. 

“Do I look like Clark Kent?”

“You look like a dork.” Sam placed his own glasses on his face and Dean’s smile widened.

“Well at least I don’t look like a grandma.”

Sam’s bitchface was priceless.

“As long as they work,” the younger man grumbled, knowing full well his brother gave him the dorkier glasses on purpose but deciding the pure joy on his brother’s face was worth the embarrassment. 

The horses within the stable began to stomp, bumping nervously against the sides of the stalls. The brothers turned to see a large, mangy hound across the grounds staring at them through blood red eyes. The creature was the size of the horses, its four legs long and thin, its body lean and covered in long, tangled hair. Dean swallowed, his heart in his throat, as the animal advanced, head low, teeth bared menacingly.

Without exchanging words, each hunter began to circle out, Sam going right, Dean left, both drawing their weapons. Dean had insisted Sam keep hold of Ruby’s knife, his plan being to distract the hound so that Sam could sneak up behind it. The hound stood its ground as the hunters spread out, its glowing eyes watching one then the other. Dean couldn’t help but notice how much those glowing red eyes disturbed him, more recent memories meshing with the ones from years back.

“Over here, Scooby,” Dean‘s voice shook despite his attempt at control. He swallowed hard, breathing through his nose as the hound turned toward him. “That’s right, you ugly son of a bitch. Remember me?” He could feel the cold sweat break across his body, his muscles tensing in reflexive memory of being torn apart. He knew it wasn’t the same hound that had sent him to Hell, but he needed to keep talking, keep its attention on him, so his brother had a better shot at taking the damn thing out. He swallowed his fear. Sam was depending on him to hold it together. It wasn’t just his life at stake this time, it was Ellie’s… and Sam’s. Failure this time was unacceptable.

The hound moved fast -- faster than Dean had thought anything so big and gangly could move. The creature was on him in an instant, knocking him to the ground before he could bring his knife to bear, knocking the blade from his grip. A sharp claw raked across his chest, forcing a muffled scream of pain from his throat.

“Dean!”

At the sound of Sam’s voice, the hound rounded, its attention on the new prey across the asphalt drive. It began to advance on the younger man, Sam taking steps back to maintain his distance. He held the demon-killing knife before him, his eyes moving from the threat to the struggling form of his brother lying behind it. 

Without warning the hound crouched to bolt forward and Sam braced himself for the impact.

But it never came.

Sam watched in awe as Dean leaped from the ground, landing squarely on the hounds back, his hands fisted in the grisly hair of its neck. The hound, trying to throw the hunter off, reared up on its hind legs and Sam couldn’t help but think of the Lone Ranger upon his trusty steed, riding off into the sunset.

“Sam! Now!”

Sam surged forward, his knife thrashing into the Hellhound’s unprotected throat as his brother finally flew from the creature’s back, landing in a heap on the asphalt driveway. Orange light flickered as the knife connected with the hound’s flesh, its demonic origin reacting to the magic. The hound brayed, a low, menacing sound as dark blood gushed from the wound. With a sickening sound, Sam pulled the knife from its throat. The cut was deep and wide, the younger hunter, armed with fear for his brother, having put all of his considerable strength into the blow.

The Hellhound faltered, first one, then another leg collapsing as its blood poured out onto the drive. Sam moved to his brother, knife raised in defense, ready to strike another blow if the hound managed to regain its feet. After a few more agonizing moments of struggle, the creature toppled, lying prone on the ground, the red glow fading from its eyes.

“Get the blood,” Dean croaked, his hand pressed to his chest, blood leaking from around it, staining the white dress shirt dark. The other hand pushed feebly at Sam, forcing him to focus on the reason they were there.

Torn between checking his brother and fulfilling their mission, Sam reluctantly pulled a flask from his pocket and stepped around the growing puddle of black blood on the even darker asphalt. He lowered the container to the sluggishly bleeding wound, allowing the warm, ebony liquid to fill it to the brim. He twisted the cap on tightly, shoving the gory flask back into his pocket before picking his way back over to his Dean who was struggling to rise onto one elbow.

“Easy,” Sam cautioned. “You had quite a ride.”

Dean grinned despite the way he was listing to the side. “I bet that looked cool as hell.” His glasses were skewed, his eyes huge as he gazed at Sam through the scorched lenses. Sam took the opportunity to assess his brother’s health, deciding the pupils looked equal, but more than a little concerned with the large patch of blood staining his brother’s chest.

“Just like the Lone Ranger,” Sam admitted, grinning at his brother’s delighted smile.

“Then help me up, Tonto. I’ve got a damsel to save.”

…………………………..

The gouges across Dean’s chest were deep. Sam wanted to stitch him up right there, but Dean had tilted his head toward Ellie, who was watching them, horror at the sight of the blood clearly written across her face. He had settled for pulling the worst of the wounds together, binding them with tape for the time being, and winding an ace bandage tightly around Dean’s torso to hold it all in place. He offered to speak to the Cassitys, let them know the danger had passed, while Dean and Ellie said their goodbyes.

As soon as Sam closed the door behind him, admonishing his brother to stay still, leaning back against the headboard of Ellie’s bed until he came back to help him to the car, Dean pushed himself up and balanced on the side of the bed. He held an arm across his torso, trying not to groan as his wounds pulled.

“Your brother said you aren’t supposed to move.”

Dean chuckled, reaching for the first aid kit his brother had left at the bottom of the bed. “Sam’s being a little overprotective right now. He means well, but…” He grunted in pain, nearly toppling from the mattress as he pulled the kit back toward him. Ellie rushed forward, catching him before he nose-dived onto the floor and helped him settle back against the headboard.

“Maybe you should listen to him,” she warned, her brows high in reprimand.

“Maybe,” Dean agreed, wincing as he forced himself to relax. The Hellhound had gotten in a good shot and he would be sore for a few days, but it had turned out better than his last encounter with one of the supernatural creatures, no one else had gotten hurt, and they’d gotten the blood needed for the spell. He was chalking this one up as a win.

As the pain died down to a dull throb, he fumbled with the kit, opening it and pulling out one of the small hex bag pouches they kept ready in case of emergency. He handed the pouch to Ellie and pushed the kit aside. 

“What’s this?”

“You were expecting diamonds?” Dean asked, his eyes dancing with amusement.

“A girl can dream.”

“It’s for protection,” he explained. “Keep it near you and demons won’t be able to find you. It should keep you safe.”

She turned the pouch around in her hand, finally pulling it close, holding it to her chest. “I guess that’s better than diamonds.”

Dean grinned. “Doesn’t sparkle, but way more valuable.”

They remained silent for a moment, each watching the other, knowing whatever could have been between them had passed.

“Thank you.”

Ellie leaned forward, placing a soft kiss on Dean’s lips. When she finally drew back, there was a tear tracking down her cheek, a sadness in her eyes that stole Dean’s breath.

“You’ll be okay,” he whispered softly. He would’ve liked to get to know her better, but he knew it wasn’t meant to be. She would have to leave the ranch, keep looking over her shoulder, making sure Crowley’s pets couldn’t get a fix on her, and he… he’d learned there was no place in his life for someone like her.

He’d made that mistake before. He wouldn’t make it again.

Sam chose that moment to return, pleased and more than a bit surprised to see his brother in the same position he’d left him. 

“We need to get back on the road.” Sam crossed the room, held out an arm to help his brother to his feet. He draped his own jacket over Dean’s bandaged torso to protect him from the chill of the night air and wrapped an arm around his back for support.

“Take care of yourself, Ellie,” he waved to the woman as soon as he’d gotten Dean situated comfortably in the passenger seat of the Impala. He glanced out the rearview mirror as they pulled down the drive, seeing her standing alone, arms wrapped around herself, watching them leave.

“Did you tell her?”

Dean, who had been watching her shrinking form in the side mirror, closed his eyes and leaned his head against the window. “That she couldn’t stay? Didn’t have to. She knew.”

“Think she’ll be okay?”

Dean took a carefully breath, letting it out slowly, his hand clamped across his chest. “I hope so. She deserves to be.”

Sam watched his brother relax into the familiar comfort of the Impala’s leather, only relaxing himself when Dean’s breathing evened out and sleep finally took him. He turned his eyes back to the dark road before them, turned the radio on and let the soft, soothing notes of Seeger’s Against the Wind fill the air.

He glanced at his sleeping brother, Dean’s comment about Ellie echoing through his head.

Most people who made Crossroads deals asked for money or fame. They weren’t prepared for what they would face, but they made their choices and Sam couldn’t find it in himself to feel sympathy for them. Everything had its price. But people like Ellie and Dean… even their Dad… they’d made their deals to save someone. So despite the fact that she made the deal, it wasn’t a selfish act. She did deserve to be okay.

And so did Dean. 

Sam vowed to make sure he was.

……………………………….

“Hey guys! I think I’ve figured out the next ingredient.” Kevin rushed into the main room of the cabin, his laptop balanced precariously in one hand, his beat-up notebook clasped in the other.

Dean was lounging on the couch, caught up in a telenovela with a lot of dramatic music and bad acting, while Sam sat at the table going through some of Kevin’s translations. Both heads swiveled in the prophet’s direction at the announcement.

“We’re all ears, dude.” Dean hit the mute button, silencing the over-the-top Spanish drama.

The teenager plopped down on the worn lazyboy, pulling his feet up to sit Indian style on the sagging cushion. “I think I know what it means by ‘essence of a knight’. He tapped a key on the laptop and turned it around so the screen faced the hunters. Sam stood and joined his brother on the couch, knocking Dean’s feet from one end. Dean scowled, but turned to sit up, both men leaning forward to get a better look at the screen.

“A Knight of Hell?” Sam asked as he scanned the website Kevin had called up.

“Yep. I think it means you need to get some of that black smoke stuff that demons are made of.”

“Seriously?” Dean moaned. “Like a friggin Hellhound wasn’t bad enough? Now we have to gank a damn Knight of Hell?” He paused a moment, his brows furrowing. “What exactly is a Knight of Hell?”

Kevin turned the laptop and used the mousepad to scroll down. He turned it again to show them an illustration of a figure with the body of a man, the head and legs of a horse, and the arms of a serpent.

Dean’s eyes widened at the sight. “Attractive son of a bitch.”

“According to this there are 72 demons that are considered knights.” Kevin explained. His ‘lecture mode’ sounded suspiciously like Sam’s, convincing Dean that all scholars were inherently boring when geeking out. “Some of them are called kings, dukes, princes, marquis – there’s even one named President Barbas.” Kevin glanced at them momentarily, a dorky grin on his face. “That’s a little creepy, right?”

Sam shook his head. “72?” He leaned back against the couch, rubbing a hand through his hair. “How come we’ve never heard of these guys before? How are we supposed to know which one to choose?”

Dean leaned back next to his brother, letting his still healing body sink into the cushion. “Maybe they’re shy?” he mused. 

One of these days, Sam was going to roll his eyes right out of his head.

The older man shrugged. Tough crowd. “We keep it simple. Flip a coin?” This time even Kevin rolled his eyes. “Fine. We do it old school.” At the twin looks of confusion he received, he grinned. “Alphabetical.” He waved a hand toward the laptop. “Who’s the first name on the list?”

Kevin scrolled through the names, mentally cataloguing them in his head. He pushed a finger against the screen when he’d determined which one fit the criteria and returned his eyes to the hunters.

“Abaddon.”

End

TBC…Next Tuesday on Sue-Pernatural Season 8: Living Legacy - While attempting to summon Abaddon to collect the next element needed for the spell to rid the world of demons, Sam and Dean are faced with a situation they’re unsure how to handle. With more than their mission in jeopardy, the boys must decide which sacrifices are worth making.


End file.
